ARTHUR 
UPSON 

SONNETS 
AND  SONGS 

Mdccccxi 

WL 


.ilultaiwrs=!l6iitrulirr 


SONNETS  AND  SONGS 


SONNETS    AND    SONGS 
BY    ARTHUR    UPSON 


PORTLAND  MAINE 

THOMAS    B    MOSHER 

MDCCCCXI 


COPYRIGHT 
THOMAS  B  MOSHER 


TO 

URSULA 

WHO  CHOSE  AND  ARRANGED 

THIS  VERSE 
IT  IS  INSCRIBED 
WITH  LOVE 
A.  U. 

Summer,  1908 


1734764 


HIS  LOWERS  TO  ARTHUR.  UPSON 

We  see  thee  in  the  clear,  aspiring  flame 
On  Autumn  hearths ;  the  moon  and  each  white  star 
Restore  us  thy  deep,  love-wise  smile  ;  afar 
About  the  world  red  roses  breathe  thy  fame 
In  many  gardens  ;  old  rich  words  proclaim 
Thee  ;  music  sings  tbee  in  each  magic  bar  : 
And  all  the  rare  and  lovely  things  that  are 
Bloom  newly  now  to  celebrate  thy  name. 

And  so  this  world  is  fairer  than  before 
With  thee  in  sunset  cloud  and  the  blue  day. 
Thou  needest  not  —  O  Perfect !  —  longer  stay, 
But  oh,  without  thee  ! — how  to  win  thy  lore  ? 
—  Yet  even  Death,  for  thee,  bath  shed  despair, 
Dark  Death  is  beautiful  now  thou  art  there! 

RUTH    SHEPARD   PHELPS 


CONTENTS 


AFTER  A  DOLMETSCH  CONCERT  .  3 

THE  EARTH-ERRAND  .it  •/ I  &!'-.  X'-J'i?  4 

"VERS  LA  VIE"  .  .  T>.  f  .  5 

PHANTOM  LIFE  .  .  ?  ,1  '•(  &:*  6 

"AT  THE  HILL'S  TOP  BIDES  LOVE"  7 

LOVE'S  PATIENCE  .  "..  .}Ol/.'J  8 

A  MOTIVE  OUT  OF  LOHENGRIN  'V  *  9 

MY  SONG  MUST  NOT  FORSAKE  ME  10 

THE  LAKE  rU,fU-  «/-.  .  ',V.:i.»H:.  11 

ABSENCE  AND  PRESENCE  /  1*  V  12 
A  SONG  OF  LOVE  AND  YOUR 

DREAMS  .  Htn  *'.~f  •'-•••  '*-  13 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  BEAUTY  Q  *  'V  14 

THE  TRAGIC  WINDS  .  -  .  j  i.  16 
TO  A  PICTURE  OF  MY  MOTHER  AS 

A  GIRL  .  .  t  •«•  •  r.V-  17 
SONG  OF  AGAMEDE  (FROM  "THE 

CITY")         tv«j      ....  18 

THE  SOBBING  WOMAN     ...  19 

THE  INCURABLES     ....  20 

CHORUS  (FROM  "THE  CITY  ")        .  21 

ARLINGTON  23 


IX 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

BETWEEN   HINGHAM   AND  BRAIN- 
TREE    24 

WHEAT  ELEVATORS  ...  26 
FROM  "OCTAVES  IN  AN  OXFORD 

GARDEN"  .  .  -V  *  .  27 

MINSTRELS  IN  BLOOMSBURY  .  .  33 

THOUGHT  OF  STEVENSON  .  .  34 
AFTER  READING  "THE  GOLDEN 

TREASURY"     IN     THE     GREEN 

PARK  .  .  .  I*  .  35 

ON  THE  LOWER  RHINE  .  .  '.  36 

SOUVENANCE  DE  LIEGE  .  .  "  P  37 

AFTER  READING  AN  OLD  COMEDY  38 
AFTER  READING  "AN  ITALIAN 

GARDEN"    ....          .'  39 

CHORUS  (FROM  "THE  CITY")        .  41 

GOLDEN  ROD 42 

IN  OCTOBER      .        .        .  43 

WHEN  ROSELEAVES  FALL       .       .  44 

SPRINGTIDE  OF  THE  SOUL      .       .  45 

"EXLIBRIS" 47 

WHEN  THE  SONG  IS  DONE  48 


SONNETS  AND  SONGS 


This  little  group  of  sonnets  and  songs, 
chosen  from  The  Collected  Poems  of 
Arthur  Upson,  is  almost  identical  with 
a  selection  made  at  the  poet's  request  a 
few  weeks  before  the  end  of  his  life.  It 
bears  the  title  and  the  dedication  he 
intended  for  it. 

Acknowledgment  of  their  kind  per- 
mission to  reprint  these  poems  is  tendered 
to  Mrs.  Julia  Claflin  Upson,  Mr.  Ed- 
mund D.  Brooks,  and  The  Bellman. 


!  UT  of  the  conquered  Past 

Unravishable  Beauty; 
Hearts  that  are  dew  and  dust 

Rebuking  the  dream  of  Death ; 
I  Flower  o'  the  clay  down-cast 
Triumphant  in  Earth's  aroma; 
Strings  that  were  strained  in  rust 
A-tremble  with  Music's  breath  ! 

Wine  that  was  spilt  in  haste 

Arising  in  fumes  more  precious  ; 
Garlands  that  fell  forgot 

Rooting  to  wondrous  bloom ; 
Youth  that  would  flow  to  waste 

Pausing  in  pool-green  valleys  — 
And  Passion  that  lasted  not 

Surviving  the  voiceless  Tomb  ! 


THE  EARTH-ERRAND 


~*HIS  memory-laden  star  that  winds 
Through  space  her  wistful  ways, 
Searching  for  that  she  yet  not  finds 

In  all  her  yesterdays  — 
She  is  a  troubled  thought  whose  quest, 

Gone  forth  among  the  spheres, 
Shall  never  know  delight  nor  rest, 

Nor  respite  from  her  fears, 
But  still  veer  on  through  void  and  flame, 

And  still  expectant  yearn, 
Till,  with  her  prize,  to  whence  she  came 

She  doth  at  length  return. 

The  sun  that  lends  her  living  light 

To  tell  her  gilded  years, 
The  moon  that  lanterns  her  at  night 

To  search  among  the  spheres, 
The  starry  hosts  that  wheel  about 

And  watch  her  mazes  wind, 
Serve  humbly  with  nor  dread  nor  doubt 

That  she  one  day  will  find  — 
That  she  one  day  will  find  the  prize 

They  sent  her  forth  to  earn, 
And  with  it  through  the  waiting  skies 

Triumphantly  return  ! 


"VERS  LA  VIE" 

(THE  STATUE  BY  VICTOR  ROUSSEAU  IN  THE 
PALAIS  DES  BEAUX  ARTS,  BRUSSELS) 

A  NGEL,  hast  thou  betrayed  me?     Long  ago 
•*•  **     In  the  Forgotten  Land  of  souls  that  wait, 
Thou  leddest  me  to  the  outward-folding  gate, 
Bidding  me  live.     I  leaned  into  the  flow 
Of  earthward-rushing  spirits,  fain  to  know 
What  are  humanity  and  human  fate 
Of  which  the  rumor  reached  to  where  we  sate 
In  our  cool,  hidden,  dreamless  ante-glow. 
But  I  learn  not,  and  am  bewildered  here 

To  know  why  thou  with  seeming-kindly  hands 

Didst  let  me  forth,  explorer  of  a  star 

Where  all  is  strange,  and  very  often  Fear 

Urges  retreat  to  that  Forgotten  Land's 

Unthoughtful  shores  where  thou  and  Silence  are  ! 


PHANTOM  LIFE 

days  are  phantom  days,  each  one 
The  shadow  of  a  hope ; 
My  real  life  never  was  begun, 
Nor  any  of  my  real  deeds  done. 

I  live  so  quietly  I  know 

There  must  be  many  a  sun 
That  does  not  see  me  as  I  go 
Among  my  shadows  to  and  fro. 


"AT  THE  HILL'S  TOP  BIDES  LOVE" 

1\ /TINE  Is  no  wayside  rose 
J-'M     All  may  attend  : 
At  the  hill's  top  it  grows, 
At  the  road's  end. 

Deep  in  unchidden  weeds, 

Rose  without  stain  — 

His  soul  its  beauty  feeds 
Who  can  attain. 

He  who  attains  thereto 

Faith  must  disclose 
Ere  he  will  shake  the  dew 

Round  its  repose. 

No  pleasant  garden-slope 

Waiteth  for  him  — 
It  is  to  him  whose  hope 

Stayeth  undim. 

Who  trusting  receives  it, 

A  faith,  in  the  dale, 
His  hoping  achieves  it, 

His  toil  shall  avail ! 


LOVE'S  PATIENCE 

T  LEARN  to  lag  behind  my  life's  desire 
•*•     That  I,  impelled  not  rashly  to  despair, 

May  rather  guide  still  hope  to  some  sweet  air 
Of  high  achievement  where,  with  statelier  fire, 
Nearer  the  stars,  my  passion  may  aspire  ! 

Slow-tongued  Experience  teaches  me  to  bear 

On  lips  more  patient  Love's  impatient  prayer, 
With  toiling  hands  to  weave  my  dream's  attire  ! 
Yet,  oh,  when  fragrant  evening  dims  the  world 

What  moon-flames  burn  in  all  the  lamps  of  dew  ! 
What  lonely  roses  lift  their  hearts  impearled  — 

What  silence  waits  the  step  and  voice  of  you  ! 
Then,  then,  all  fails;  my  empty  arms  outstart 
For  one  brief  hour  to  strain  you  to  my  heart ! 


A  MOTIVE  OUT  OF  LOHENGRIN 

T  TNEARTHLY  beauty  of  soft  light  persuadeth 
^-'      This  castle,  which  to  shadows  did  belong ; 

And  through  its  farthest  vaults  sweet,  mellow  song 
The  silence  of  my  wintry  halls  upbraideth ; 
Gently  as  saffron  dawn  that  smiling  fadeth 

The  sable,  yielding  hours,  these  search  along ; 

And  with  them  souls  of  roses  dead  —  faint  throng 
Of  odors  of  old  years  that  all-pervadeth. 
Lady,  this  thing  I  speak  not  —  do  not  fear  it. 

'  T  were  more  than  friendship,  yet  no  better  name 

Dares  my  most  grateful  heart's  allegiance  claim 
Lest  this,  as  I  do  think,  be  brother-spirit 

To  him,  swan-brought  to  Brabant's  castled  shore, 

Who,  named  aloud,  was  lost  forevermore. 


MY  SONG  MUST  NOT  FORSAKE  ME 


mine  from  thee,  loved  heart,  to  feel  such  tide 
As  this  mine  own  doth  pour  thee  ; 
Still  shall  I  not  go  all  unsatisfied  : 
Enough  that  I  adore  thee. 

And  if  thou  never  wakest  to  my  song 

Not  weakly  shall  it  falter; 
Proudly  I  pace  Love's  lonely  courts  along 

Unto  their  inmost  altar. 

Ah,  some  day,  if,  within  thy  pleasant  sleep 

Faint  echoes  of  me  find  thee, 
White  heart,  may  dreams  be  not  too  fair  or  deep 

Or  soothing  to  unbind  thee  ! 

Perchance  even  then,  responding  to  that  sound, 

Thou  'It  hail  and  overtake  me, 
Clearing  the  idle  distance  at  a  bound  ..... 

My  song  must  not  forsake  me  ! 


10 


THE  LAKE 

\\7HEN  in  our  drifting  boat 

The  early  lights  salute  you 
Bending  to  trail  your  arm 

Where  yellow  lilies  rise, 
Lifting  your  full,  white  throat 

To  free  its  morning  music  — 
Then  do  I  dread  the  charm 

Of  your  deep  and  changeful  eyes  ! 

When,  at  the  night's  young  hour, 

The  first  fair  planet  rises 
Shaking  her  petals'  gold 

Afar  in  the  fields  of  air; 
When  to  that  flaming  flower, 

Lonely,  the  dim  lake  answers  — 
Then  how  my  heart  grows  bold, 

Wishing  that  you  were  there  ! 


ABSENCE  AND  PRESENCE 

A  BSENCE  is  full  of  song  of  you  which  dies 
•*•  *•  When  I,  once  more,  look  down  within  your  eyes : 
I  know  not  why  —  not  one  least  syllable 
Reaches  your  ears,  from  all  I  long  to  tell ! 

Let  it  be  so !     For,  in  your  silence  I 

Perceive  you  spellbound,  too;  and  therein  read 

All  absent  lovely  words  you  ever  sigh  — 

The  selfsame  words  that  fail  me  in  my  need. 


12 


A  SONG  OF  LOVE  AND  YOUR 
DREAMS 

T  F  Life  be  the  street 
•*•     Where  dreams  are  sold, 
Faith  is  the  purse 
Of  exhaustless  gold. 

Dreams  are  a-many, 

Both  false  and  true, 
But  Love's  is  the  home 

You  fetch  them  to; 

And  there,  all  alone 
With  Love,  you  pour 

The  dreams  you  bought 
On  your  chamber  floor. 

And  when  Love  looks 

Each  packet  through, 
His  smile  turns  all 

The  false  ones  true  ! 


13 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  BEAUTY 


TT^OR  whom  is  Beauty?     Where  no  eyes  attend 
-*•       As  richly  goes  the  day ;  and  every  dawn 

Reddens  along  green  rivers  whereupon 
None  ever  gaze.     Think,  could  earth  see  an  end 
Of  all  the  twilight  lovers  whose  thoughts  blend 

With  scent  of  garden  blooms  they  call  their  own, 

Would  not  as  close  the  yellowest  rose  outblown 
Be,  after  them,  the  unmurmurous  evening's  friend  ? 
Then  wherefore  Beauty,  if  in  mortal  eye 

That  loves  them  stars  no  challenge  read  to  shine, 
And  all  the  wonder  of  a  sunset  sky 

Wax  not  more  wondrous  for  such  smile  as  thine  ? 
Why,  pray,  if  not  for  Love  which  cannot  die  — 

This  old  earth-loving  Love  of  thine  and  mine  ? 


14 


II 


When  we  two  from  our  Summer  hills  have  passed, 
And  Autumn  burns  beneath  thy  praise  no  more, 
Nor  any  Winter's  raving  at  our  door 

Shuts  one  within  the  other's  heart  more  fast; 

Neither  Spring's  roses  learn  what  lips  thou  hast  — 
Oh,  then  this  thing  called  Beauty  to  its  core 
Our  wedded  souls  shall  penetrate  before 

One  thought  unto  Eternity  is  cast ! 

Then  shall  we  know  the  violet's  pretext ;  learn 
More  definite  a  promise  of  the  rose, 

And  its  fulfilment ;  when  the  maples  turn, 
Be  part  of  all  the  glory  among  those ; 

Or  help  the  May  with  her  uncoiling  fern, 

And  breathe  the  trillium  open  where  it  grows  ! 


15 


THE  TRAGIC  WINDS 

I  LAY  in  a  rich  chamber  candle-dim 
•*•    And  nightlong  dreamt  awake.    The  ancient  winds 
Like  remote  music  made  a  dusk  of  sound  : 

Viols  throbbing  out  some  earth-impassioned  hymn 
From  halls  of  regal  revels  and  bright  sins  — 
Far  voices  as  of  love-mad  women,  crowned, 

Star-gemmed  Despairs,  the  queens  of  legend  lands, 
Seated  within  the  gateways  of  their  towers, 
Eyes  full  of  smiles  forgotten,  unfelt  tears 

Uncounted  falling  in  their  idle  hands 

Which  whitely  drooped  upon  their  laps  like  flowers. 

Anteia's  sisters  these,  and  Phaedra's  feres. 

Methought  their  murmurs  gathered  in  the  night, 
And  all  these  wretched  queens  of  ancient  care 
Joined  faintly  their  involuntary  moan, 

Till  pale  Aurora  passioned  toward  the  light, 
Slight  Cynthia  fled  adown  her  brightening  stair, 
And  day  brought  other  worlds  to  rule  my  own. 


16 


TO  A  PICTURE  OF  MY  MOTHER 
AS  A  GIRL 

ever  a  youth  pass  by  the  spot 
Your  fragrance,  love,  made  dear, 
Without  a  heart-leap  at  the  lot 
That  drew  his  fancy  near? 

Was  ever  a  maid  of  fairy  stuff 

Like  this,  in  days  of  old  — 
A  rose  already  fine  enough 

Without  that  heart  of  gold  ! 


17 


SONG  OF  AGAMEDE 
(FROM  "THE  CITY") 

ROW,  grow,  thou  little  tree, 

His  body  at  the  roots  of  thee ; 
Since  last  year's  loveliness  in  death 
The  living  beauty  nourisheth. 

Bloom,  bloom,  thou  little  tree, 
Thy  roots  around  the  heart  of  me ; 
Thou  canst  not  blow  too  white  and  fair 
From  all  the  sweetness  hidden  there. 

Die,  die,  thou  little  tree, 
And  be  as  all  sweet  things  must  be ; 
Deep  where  thy  petals  drift  I,  too, 
Would  rest  the  changing  seasons  through. 


v? 


18 


THE  SOBBING  WOMAN 

F  HEARD  a  woman  sobbing  in  the  night 
•*•    Against  a  casement  high.     And  as  she  cried 

Our  heartless  world's  deliberate  homicide, 
Our  tragic  badinage,  our  mortal  slight 
Of  elemental  claims,  and  the  dark  plight 
Of  the  poor  I  faced  there,  rigid,  open-eyed. 
Across  the  unechoing  street  in  silence  died 
Her  weary  moaning.     Whether  in  her  sight 
Some  star  appeared  to  soothe  her  present  pain 

With  memories  sweet,  or  quiet  sleep's  strong  hand 
Blunted  her  keen-edged  woe,  or  other  fear 
Came  smothering  down  too  close  for  sob  or  tear, 
I  could  not  guess ;  —  some  Fate  may  understand 
That  spins  unseen  her  endless  umber  skein. 


19 


THE  INCURABLES 

ONG  up  and  down  I  paced  the  House  of  Pain ; 
•"^ '    On  their  white  thrones  reclined  the  dwellers  there 

In  regal  reticence  and  superb  despair, 
Maimed,  marred,  half  blotted  out,  as  they  had  lain 
For  expiation  under  the  disdain 

Of  Life's  great,  grinding  car ;  repulsive,  fair, 
Old,  young,  loud,  gentle,  now  alike  did  bear 
That  kingly  quiet  whereto  those  attain 
Whom  Life  has  conquered,  and  whom  Death  has  smitten 
With  the  universal  Light.     Their  erstwhile  fret 

Forgotten  entire  beneath  the  eternal  sun, 
They  lay  and  read  in  air  the  old  laws  written 
Of  silence,  and  their  souls  were  outward  set 
Where  young  and  old  and  fair  and  foul  are  one. 


20 


CHORUS 
(FROM  "THE  CITY") 

old  it  went  forth  to  Euchenor,  pro- 
nounced of  his  sire  — 

Reluctant,  impelled  by  the  god's  unescapable 
fire- 

To  choose  for  his  doom  or  to  perish  at  home 
of  disease 

Or  be  slain  of  his  foes,  among  men,  where  Troy 
surges  down  to  the  seas. 

Polyides,  the  soothsayer,  spake  it,  inflamed  by 

the  god. 
Of  his  son  whom  the  fates  singled  out  did  he 

bruit  it  abroad  ; 
And  Euchenor  went  down  to  the  ships  with  his 

armor  and  men 
And  straightway,  grown  dim  on  the  gulf,  passed 

the  isles  he  passed  never  again. 

Why  weep  ye,  O  women  of  Corinth  ?     The 

doom  ye  have  heard 
Is  it  strange  to  your  ears,  that  ye  make  it  so 

mournful  a  word  ? 


21 


Is  he  who  so  fair  in  your  eyes  to  his  manhood 
upgrew 

Alone  in  his  doom  of  pale  death  —  are  of  mor- 
tals the  beaten  so  few? 

O  weep  not,  companions  and  lovers !  Turn 
back  to  your  joys : 

The  defeat  was  not  his,  which  he  chose,  nor  the 
victory  Troy's. 

Him  a  conqueror,  beauteous  in  youth,  o'er  the 
flood  his  fleet  brought, 

And  the  swift  spear  of  Paris  that  slew  com- 
pleted the  conquest  he  sought. 

Not  the  falling  proclaims  the  defeat,  but  the 
place  of  the  fall ; 

And  the  fate  that  decrees  and  the  god  that 
impels  through  it  all 

Regard  not  blind  mortals'  divisions  of  slayer 
and  slain, 

But  invisible  glories  dispense  wide  over  the  war- 
gleaming  plain. 


22 


ARLINGTON 

]VTO  tap  of  drum  nor  sound  of  any  horn 

*  ^      Shall  call  them  now  from  this  unbattled  height ; 
No  more  the  picket  dreads  the  traitor  night, 

Nor  would  the  marcher  tired  delay  the  morn. 

Fell  some  upon  the  field  with  victory  torn 

From  weakening  grasp ;  and  some  before  the  fight, 
Doomed  by  slow  fevers  or  the  stray  shot's  spite  ; 

And  some,  old  wounds  through  quiet  years  have  worn. 

And  all  are  folded  now  so  peacefully 

Within  her  breast  whose  glory  was  their  dream  — 
From  her  own  sanguine  fields,  from  isles  extreme, 

From  the  long  tumult  of  the  land  and  sea  — 
Where  lies  the  steel  Potomac's  jewelled  stream 

Like  the  surrendered  sword  of  Memory. 


23 


BETWEEN  HINGHAM  AND 
BRAINTREE 


(FOR  L.  C.  C.) 

ETWEEN  Braintree  and  Hingham 

Beyond  the  roaring  town, 
The  land  shrank  into  shadow 
As  the  sun  dropped  down ; 
The  apple-trees  were  ghostly, 

The  peach-trees  seemed  to  bleed, 
As  the  train  rushed  on  to  Hingham 
With  my  heart's  sore  need. 

Between  Braintree  and  Hingham 

The  rocks  were  ashen-grey, 
The  creeks  were  bare  of  water, 

And  the  brown  boats  lay 
Tipped  in  the  tideless  bottoms 

Without  a  hope  to  rise, 
And  all  the  world  grew  blacker 

'Neath  the  low  black  skies. 

Between  Hingham  and  Braintree 
As  the  train  leaped  on  to  town, 

The  fields  were  full  of  sunshine, 
And  heaven  came  down 


24 


And  lay  along  the  waters 

That  brimmed  the  grassy  flume, 
And  gleamed  among  the  fruit-boughs 

A-burst  with  bloom  ! 

Between  Hingham  and  Braintree 

The  rocks  were  green-bed ight, 
The  hilltops  were  a  wondrous 

Arcadian  delight; 
The  dories  and  the  catboats 

Danced  gaily  side  by  side, 
And  the  sails  were  sheeted  silver 

On  the  full  flood  tide  ! 


25 


WHEAT  ELEVATORS 

/CASTLES,  or  Titans'  houses,  or  huge  fanes 
^^     Of  ancient  gods  that  yet  compel  men's  fear  — 

What  powers,  what  pomps,  do  these  betoken  here 
Looming  aloft  upon  the  plough-seamed  plains? 
Souls  of  ripe  seasons,  spirits  of  sweet  rains, 

Flock  hither ;  and  the  sinewy,  yellow  year 

Heaps  their  high  chambers  with  Pactolian  gear 
More  precious  than  those  golden  Lydian  grains. 
Nor  fortresses,  nor  demi-gods'  abodes, 

These  are  upraised  to  well-feared  deities 

Whose  power  is  iron,  and  whose  splendid  sway 
Is  undisputed  now  as  when  great  Rhodes, 

And  Tyre,  and  Carthage,  flourished  serving  these, 
Or  Joseph  stored  Egyptian  corn  away. 


26 


FROM  "OCTAVES  IN  AN  OXFORD 
GARDEN" 


WADHAM 


~^HE  day  is  like  a  Sabbath  in  a  swoon. 
•*•       Slow  in  September's  blue  go  fair  cloud-things 
Poising  aslant  upon  their  charmed  wings, 
Arrested  by  some  backward  thought  of  June. 
Softly  I  tread,  and  with  repentant  shoon, 
Half  fearfully  in  sweet  imaginings, 
Where  broods,  like  courtyards  of  departed  kings, 
The  old  quadrangle  paved  with  afternoon. 


Ill 


There  dwells  the  very  soul  of  quietness, 
Seclusion's  spirit  deep  within  the  green, 
Secure  from  fame  as  some  unsung  demesne 

In  far  Ionian  hills.     There  waits  to  bless, 

With  her  all-healing,  mother-soft  caress, 
The  Sympathy  of  Trees,  that  friend  unseen, 
Soother  of  moods,  on  whom  all  hearts  do  lean 

Sooner  or  later,  and  their  cares  confess. 


27 


IV 


As  one  whose  road  winds  upward  turns  his  face 
Unto  the  valleys  where  he  late  hath  stood, 
Leaning  upon  his  staff  in  peace  to  brood 

On  many  a  beauty  of  the  distant  place, 

So  I  in  this  cool  garden  pause  a  space, 
Reviewing  many  things  in  many  a  mood, 
Accumulating  friends  in  solitude 

From  the  assembly  of  my  thoughts  and  days. 


XII 


LOST   INHERITANCE 


"^HIS  is  my  lost  inheritance.     I  look 

With  brotherliest  affections  yearning  forth 
To  the  flower-bearing  sod.     Oh,  what  is  worth 
The  strange  estate  of  flesh  I  strangely  took? 
In  the  soft  soil  the  garden  breezes  shook) 

From  the  wall  chink  but  now,  there  's  measure  of  earth 
To  match  my  body's  dust  when  its  rebirth 
To  sod  restores  old  functions  I  forsook. 


28 


XIII 
VICISSITUDE 

TRANCE  that  a  sod  for  just  a  thrill  or  two 
Should  ever  be  seduced  into  the  round 

Of  change  wherein  its  present  state  is  found 
In  this  my  form  !     Forsake  its  quiet,  true, 
And  fruitfullest  retirement  to  go  through 

The  heat,  the  strain,  the  languor,  and  the  wound. 

Forget  soft  rain  to  hear  the  stormier  sound, 
Exchange  for  burning  tears  its  peaceful  dew  ! 


XIV 
OLD  SONG  AND  A  RIVER 

T  was  the  lip  of  murmuring  Thames  along 
When  new  lights  sought  the  woods  all  strangely  fair, 

Such  quiet  lights  as  saints  transfigured  wear 
In  minster  windows  crept  the  woods  among. 
And  far  as  from  some  hazy  hill,  yet  strong, 

Methought  an  upland  shepherd  piped  it  there, 

Rousing  a  silvern  echo  in  her  lair : 
"  Sweet  Thames,  run  softly  till  I  end  my  song." 

29 


XV 


My  Spenser  lay  the  dewy  grass  upon, 
His  pages  shone  before  me  as  I  read  — 
Like  the  gold  daisies  gleaming  round  his  bed 

His  lantern  verses  upward  to  me  shone. 

End  never  yet  his  song's  rich  note  hath  known ; 
"Sweet  Thames"  ran  softly  by  his  burthen  sped, 
And  shall,  while  hymns  are  sung  and  prayers  are  said, 

Low  chanting  his  glad  Prothalamion. 


XXI 

ST.   PAUL'S 


time  from  that  grey  close  I  did  emerge 
Wherethrough  I  had  been  toiling,  and  to  me, 
Like  some  benignant  rock  above  the  sea, 
St.  Paul's  great  brow  above  the  mist  and  surge 
Loomed  kindly,  and  methought  did  kindly  urge 
All  men  up  to  it,  till  there  came  to  be 
A  hush  on  hearts,  a  deep  tranquillity 
Of  healing  virtue,  round  the  minster's  verge. 

30 


XXV 

ROMAN     GLASSWARE     PRESERVED     IN     THE 
ASHMOLEAN 

T7AIR  crystal  cups  are  dug  from  earth's  old  crust, 

-*-       Shattered  but  lovely ;  for,  at  price  of  all 
Their  shameful  exile  from  the  banquet-hall, 

They  have  been  bargaining  beauties  from  the  dust. 

So,  dig  my  life  but  deep  enough,  you  must 

Find  broken  friendships  round  its  inner  wall  — 
Which  once  my  careless  hand  let  slip  and  fall  — 

Brave  with  faint  memories,  rich  in  rainbow-rust. 


XXVI 
LIFE'S  USURPATION 

~^ELL  them,  sweet  evening  breeze  poised  here,  no  less 
•*•        I  love  their  memory  whom  thou  goest  to  greet 

Out  there  at  heaven's  gate,  but  that  I  meet 
Less  oft  the  idle  thoughts  of  old  distress. 
Tell  them  the  thought  of  them  still  lives  to  bless, 

But  since  I  learned  how  much,  despite  defeat, 

My  life  demands  that  I  shall  make  complete, 
I  must  yield  up  my  cherished  loneliness. 

31 


XXVII 
TRACES 

OOMETHING  of  sorrow  am  I  not  denied,— 

^     Share  of  the  earth's  old,  universal  pain 
I  own,  —  though  but  as  hillsides  own  the  rain, 

Or  solid  sands  the  long  wave's  stroking  side. 

Still,  though  no  rains  upon  the  steep  may  bide, 
And  harmlessly  the  sea-floods  rise  and  wane, 
The  downward  torrent-traces  do  remain, 

And  sands  bear  record  of  the  sedulous  tide. 

XXXII 

He  is  no  lover  of  the  sea  who  loses 
Sound  of  her  voices,  inland  wandering. 
Still  should  her  old  melodious  mystery  spring 

Around  him,  wend  he  wheresoe'er  he  chooses; 

And  so  within  me  rhythmic  life  refuses 
By  any  other  pulse  than  yours  to  swing, 
Far  from  your  friendship's  ocean  though  I  sing 

Where  the  hills  tire  and  the  rough  pathway  bruises. 


32 


MINSTRELS  IN  BLOOMSBURY 

~^O  Covent  Garden  people  stream 

To  drink  the  music  there ; 
Upon  the  curb  we  stay  to  dream 

With  melody  more  rare  : 
Sing  on,  enchanted  minstrel-girl, 

Thou  artless,  young,  and  fair ! 

The  'busses  in  Southampton  Row, 
The  jingling  hansoms  here, 

Bear  London,  heedless,  to  and  fro 
In  search  of  evening  cheer : 

For  us  thou  art  enough,  dear  voice 
Forgetful-sweet  and  clear ! 

Our  daylong  toil  but  goes  to  win 

Another  toilsome  day; 
Play  on,  oblivious  violin  ! 

Soft  harp,  beseech  thee,  play  ! 
And  thou,  pale  girl  with  eyes  aflame, 

Sing  on  for  us  who  stay ! 


33 


THOUGHT  OF  STEVENSON 

T  TlGH  and  alone  I  stood  on  Calton  Hill 
*•  •••     Above  the  scene  that  was  so  dear  to  him 

Whose  exile  dreams  of  it  made  exile  dim. 
October  wooed  the  folded  valleys  till 
In  mist  they  blurred,  even  as  our  eyes  upfill 

Under  a  too-sweet  memory  ;  spires  did  swim, 

And  gables  rust-red,  on  the  grey  sea's  brim  — 
But  on  these  heights  the  air  was  soft  and  still. 
Yet  not  all  still :  an  alien  breeze  will  turn 

Here,  as  from  bournes  in  aromatic  seas, 
As  round  old  shrines  a  new-freed  soul  might  yearn 

With  incense  of  rich  earthly  reveries. 
Vanish  the  isles:  Mist,  exile,  searching  pain, 
But  the  brave  soul  is  free,  is  home  again  ! 
\ 


34 


AFTER  READING  "THE  GOLDEN 
TREASURY"  IN  THE  GREEN  PARK 

F  Piccadilly  with  its  pavement  cries, 
Its  maddening  monotone  of  wheel  and  hoof, 
In  the  Green  Park  primeval  Summer  lies, 

How  near,  how  yearning,  yet  how  far  aloof ! 
O  city,  symbol  of  a  world  that  still 

Heedless  of  beauty  under  heaven  rolls ; 
And  thou,  blithe  meadow  all  with  larks  athrill 

Like  Poetry,  that  pasture  of  great  souls  — 
Ye  twain,  so  sundered,  shall  forever  dwell, 

A  tumult  and  a  blessing  side  by  side : 
Here,  as  to  toil-worn  Argo  once  befell 

A  singing  island  on  a  thundering  tide, 
Where  men  might  stretch  them  out  in  glad  release, 
We  too,  much-wandering,  hail  this  hour  of  peace ! 


35 


ON  THE  LOWER  RHINE 
(DUSSELDORF,  HEINE'S  BIRTHPLACE) 

T3  Y  Dusseldorf  the  singing  Rhine-Stream  bends, 
-*•**     Age- wonted  from  his  earlier  lyric  tone  : 

A  master-singer  somewhat  pensive  grown, 
In  more  of  epic  stateliness  he  wends 
Where  Youth,  in  memory  only,  still  attends 

With  foregone  passions,  raptures  long  since  flown ; 

So  sweeps  he  down  from  Minster-crowned  Cologne, 
And  to  the  silent,  level  sea  descends. 
Not  such,  O  Heine,  thy  mad  stream  of  song  ! 

Though  now  beyond  our  fitful  ocean's  hem 

The  eternal  tide  of  beauty  harbor  thee, 
Thou  fleddest  the  broken  crags  of  life  along, 

Beating  white  flowers  of  foam  out  over  them, 
And  passionately  soughtest  thy  mother-sea ! 


36 


SOUVENANCE  DE  LlfiGE 
(NOVEMBER) 

REY  city  by  the  silver  Meuse,  I  fling 

One  precious  day  to  thee  of  my  brief  days  ; 
Take  it,  and  give  remembrance  :  Mellow  praise 
Of  chimes  across  a  moonlit  evening, 
Rain  of  light  echoes ;  the  full,  wavy  swing 
Of  burdened  barges  down  thy  waterways  — 
Noise  nearest  music ;  the  blue,  holy  haze 
And  perfume  of  old  altars ;  wing  on  wing 
Of  iridescent  doves  descending  soft 

Within  a  Gothic  gate  where  one  strews  bread 

For  alms  to  the  air's  beggars ;  beyond  her, 
Arcades  recessive,  pinnacles  aloft, 

November's  vista  deepening  to  one  blur 

Of  blue-and-grey  behind  her  upturned  head. 


37 


AFTER  READING  AN  OLD  COMEDY 
(FOR  H.  A.  B.) 

T  CLOSE  the  book,  thee  in  it,  gentle  mime, 
•*•     In  undisturbed  seclusion  hid  away 

'Twixt  dulled  moroccos  where  shall  none  gainsay 
Thine  obvious  humor  of  a  simpler  time : 
So  an  old  grandsire's  chimney-corner  rime, 
Secure  in  smiles  of  those  who  love  him,  may 
Never  on  cold,  unkindred  hearing  play, 
But  live  alway  its  crisp  and  mirthful  prime. 
There  waits  bold,  pleasant  wit  all  undismayed, 
Unconscious  of  this  devious  age  of  ours, 

Forever  alien  to  our  sighs  and  tears ; 
And  there  the  sweep  of  fair,  antique  brocade, 
The  undying  perfume  of  forgotten  flowers, 
And  laughter  ringing  faintly  from  old  years. 


38 


AFTER  READING  "AN   ITALIAN 
GARDEN" 

(FOR  R— ) 

~"*O  him  no  more  an  inward  hate 
•*•        Shall  speak,  nor  aught  but  beauty  sing, 
Who  walks  within  this  Garden  late 
And  hears  the  fountain  murmuring. 

A  vestige  of  some  other  day 

Once  lived,  but  dim-remembered  now, 
Goes  in  the  moon's  familiar  way 

Beneath  the  stately  ilex-bough. 

The  parterre  —  I  but  half  forget  — 
The  Tuscan  melancholy  night  — 

Too  faintly  I  regain  them,  yet 

Too  keenly  to  have  lost  them  quite. 

Was  I  the  Other  of  some  song 
That  many  a  year  hath  left  the  lips 

Of  her  who  walks  alone  along 

The  water  where  the  Triton  dips? 

And  she  —  how  her  rispetti  claim 
The  sad,  bewildered  heart  of  me 

That  ever  almost-saith  her  name, 
Yet  loseth  it  continually  ! 


39 


Slow  moving  down  the  marble  stair, 
Or  leaned  on  sculptured  balustrade, 

Her  face  is  shadowed  by  her  hair, 
Her  arms  are  buried  in  its  shade. 

Oh,  would  she  lift  that  face,  or  free 
Those  hidden  hands,  I  know  that  soon 

My  faint,  old  faded  Italy 

Again  might  blossom  to  the  moon  ! 


40 


CHORUS 

(FROM  "THE  CITY") 

Tf^GINA'S  foam  is  high  and  wild 
A  J_y     Where  Pan  immortal  sits  enisled ; 
But  thou  and  I  with  flying  oar 
Seek  Psyttaleia's  sacred  shore. 

The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 
Well  knows  that  rocky  island's  frown ; 
But  thou  and  I  together  learned 
What  fires  upon  her  altars  burned. 

Oh,  many  a  sail  goes  gleaming  there 
Bound  for  some  olive-garden  fair ; 
But  thou  and  I  made  fast  to  her 
And  found  her  cypress  lovelier. 

The  shrines  of  Aphrodite  lift 
Their  smoke  in  every  village-rift ; 
But  thou  and  I  remote  from  man 
Propitiate  the  woodland  Pan. 


41 


GOLDEN  ROD 

1T\OUBTLESS  't  was  here  we  walked  but  yesterday, 

-*-^     Seeing  not  any  beauty  save  the  green 
Of  meadows,  or,  where  slipt  the  brook  between, 

A  ribbon  of  blue  and  silver;  yet  the  way 

Is  strange :  in  golden  paths  I  seem  astray. 
Do  you  remember,  comrade,  to  have  seen 
Aught  forward  in  these  meadows  that  should  mean 

A  culmination  in  such  fair  display? 

We  noticed  not  the  humble  stalks  amid 
The  many  roadside  grasses ;  but,  it  seems, 
They  were  preparing  this  !     And,  when  their  dreams 

Were  ripe  for  doing,  they  could  no  more  be  hid 
Than  golden  thoughts  that  bloom  to  action  when 
Their  hearts  make  heroes  out  of  common  men. 


42 


IN  OCTOBER 

PnE  maples  their  old  sumptuous  hues  resume 
•*•      Around  the  woodland  pool's  bright  glass,  and  strong 
The  year's  blue  incense  and  recession-song 

Sweep  over  me  their  music  and  perfume. 

Dear  Earth,  that  I  reproached  thee  in  my  gloom 
I  would  forget,  as  thou  forgott'st ;  I  long 
To  make  redress  for  such  a  filial  wrong 

And  praise  thee  now  for  all  thy  ruddy  bloom  ! 

So  fond  a  mother  to  be  used  so  ill ! 

Yet  this  poor  heart  of  mine  hath  ever  been 
Prey  to  its  own  unwarranted  alarms  — 

Shall  fret,  and  beg  forgiveness  so,  until 
Thou  fold  my  thankless  body  warmly  in, 
And  draw  me  back  into  thy  loving  arms. 


43 


WHEN  ROSELEAVES  FALL 

\\  7HEN  roseleaves  fall  in  evenings  cold 
To  mingle  with  their  mother  mold, 
Look  to  it  lest  thy  heart  be  set 
To  seek  strange  blossoms  and  forget 

Thy  roses  and  their  sway  of  old. 

Run  not  to  lesser  blooms  !  nor  fold 
Unto  thy  heart  the  creed  those  hold 
Who  stand  like  Stoics  by  and  let 
Their  roseleaves  fall ! 

But  gather  them  as  precious  gold ; 
Rich-spiced,  high-placed  and  orient-bowled, 

They  shall  be  Summer  to  thee  yet. 

What  though  they  fade  and  thou  regret, 
Thou  canst  make  theirs  a  boon  untold 
When  roseleaves  fall. 


44 


SPRINGTIDE  OF  THE  SOUL 
(FOR  R.   B.) 

f^HE  flesh  to  fragrant  whitening  of  the  bough, 
•*-      Full-flooding  fields,  and  softening  sod,  doth  yearn: 

The  spirit  will  to  Autumn's  wooing  burn, 
And  to  October  is  her  tenderest  vow : 
October,  Springtide  of  the  soul !     What  now 

May  I  compare  to  raptures  that  return 

When  round  thine  auburn  hair  these  eyes  discern 
First  the  wild,  purple  berries  kiss  thy  brow  ? 

My  soul  bends  to  thee,  as  a  waiting  bride, 
Long  from  her  maiden  chamber  searching  far, 
Doth  see,  at  last,  beneath  the  vesper  star, 

Her  sunset  lover  toward  her  castle  ride  : 

She  flings  her  evening  casement  open  wide, 

And  leans  out  through  the  trembling  lattice-bar, 
Then,  turning,  sets  her  chamber  door  ajar, 

And  flies  back  to  the  crimsoning  windowside. 

"  Submit  thyself  to  Beauty,"  cry  the  lords 
Of  this  Autumnal  pageant :  day-end  skies 
That  dwell  in  calm,  like  love-remembered  eyes  — 
And  the  dim  dusk  of  topaz-golden  hoards 
Streaking  the  forest  like  old  painted  words 

45 


Fading  along  some  saint's-page  fair  and  wise  — 
And  windy  rivers  whose  mingled  voices  rise 
To  smite  rich,  vibrant,  melancholy  chords. 


Friend  of  my  heart !     Among  the  Autumn  trees 
We  walk  together  baring  thought  to  thought 
Of  this  vast  symbol-earth  wherein  lie  wrought 

Hints  of  immortal  dreams  and  destinies ! 

And  you  and  I  are  part  of  all  of  these  ! 

Ourselves  mysterious  emblems,  tones  half-caught 
From  voices  far,  wherein  our  souls  have  sought 

Deep  meanings,  silent,  'mid  earth's  melodies. 


46 


"EX  LIBRIS" 

TN  an  old  book  at  even  as  I  read 

•*•      Fast  fading  words  adown  my  shadowy  page, 
I  crossed  a  tale  of  how,  in  other  age, 

At  Arqua,  with  his  books  around  him,  sped 

The  word  to  Petrarch  ;  and  with  noble  head 
Bowed  gently  o'er  his  volume  that  sweet  sage 
To  Silence  paid  his  willing  seigniorage. 

And  they  who  found  him  whispered,  "He  is  dead  !" 

Thus  timely  from  old  comradeships  would  I 
To  Silence  also  rise.     Let  there  be  night, 

Stillness,  and  only  these  staid  watchers  by, 

And  no  light  shine  save  my  low  study  light  — 

Lest  of  his  kind  intent  some  human  cry 
Interpret  not  the  Messenger  aright. 


47 


WHEN  THE  SONG  IS  DONE 

\\7HEN  the  song  is  done 

And  his  heart  is  ashes, 
Never  praise  the  Singer 

Whom  you,  silent,  heard. 
What  to  him  the  sound  ? 

What  your  eyes'  fond  flashes  ? 
When  the  singing 's  over 

Say  no  word  ! 

Ye  who  darkling  stood, 

Think,  your  noon  of  praises, 
Can  it  glimmer  down 

To  his  deepset  bower? 
Never  round  him  shone 

Once  your  garden-mazes : 
Now  his  wandering  's  over 

Bring  no  flower ! 


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